


no matter what they say (we're gonna be ok)

by roguerey



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Fix-It, Happy Ending, Heaven is a place on earth, M/M, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Post-Finale, canon divergent post rusty nail, spoilers for all of s15, taking the pieces we were given and putting them together in the way they should have been arranged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:21:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roguerey/pseuds/roguerey
Summary: Dean wakes up behind the wheel.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 15
Kudos: 91





	no matter what they say (we're gonna be ok)

Dean wakes up behind the wheel. Well,  _ wakes up _ might not be the exact right term. It’s a barely perceptible shift, something soft, like flipping the page of a well-loved book or turning down clean linen sheets. There’s no shock or fear or uncertainty. It’s a ripple of an instant and he’s behind the wheel already pushing eighty, Baby’s engine rumbling the content purr of a long day on the road. The leather beneath him is warm and firm as he shifts in the seat and feels the familiar sweet-dull ache that tends to settle in his tailbone when he’s been driving for hours. The sun through the open window frames his forearm in a beam of light teetering right on the edge of too-hot-to-be-comfortable, the lifelong culprit to blame for his left arm always staying a little more tanned and dotted with freckles than the other. Dean is struck by the  _ rightness _ of it all; he can feel it in the air, the friction of the road, the space in between the steering wheel and the cups of his palms. It’s as if everything, from the car itself down to the individual atoms and molecules that make up the denim of his jeans, is exactly where it’s meant to be. It’s the feeling of the last piece to a puzzle snapping into place with little resistance, of a blade finding its sheath for the final time before it retires to the wall of its master’s house. 

Dean doesn’t need to turn his head to know who is sitting in the passenger seat. He feels the presence like his own shadow and  _ knows.  _ Knows in a way that’s as if he’s always known, without the gut-hitch momentary uncertainty of a question. He knows this moment as if he’s already lived it a thousand times, the car and the road and the angel in the seat beside him. So when Cas meets his eyes with a gentle smile, Dean isn’t surprised, just returns a grin. 

Finding Cas’s hand and lacing their fingers together is as easy and natural as shifting gears. There’s a song playing on the stereo that Dean doesn’t think he’s heard before, but Cas hums along as Dean thumbs circles on the back of his wrist. It’s all strings and sleepy guitar that blends into the road noise until it’s almost like there’s no music playing at all. Dean lets the soft sound of Cas’s humming fill his head as he drives on. 

By the time they pull over, the sun is setting. They’re parked off the side of the road in a small dirt clearing on the outskirts of what appears to be farmland. The crop isn’t far enough along to distinguish yet, just bright green leaves sprouting from the soil with promise every few feet. 

Dean cuts the engine with his free hand and brings the other, still intertwined with Cas’s, to his lips. He keeps his gaze steady fixed in Cas’s blue eyes as he kisses the knuckles on his hand one by one. 

There’s a version of this moment that goes differently, Dean knows. It’s a version that’s harder, that hurts more, where he stumbles on his words and cries and his confessions burst from him like birds from a crowded cage. He can sense it, tucked safely away somewhere in the near past, words on a page that will never see the light of day.

Dean is glad it happens here, where it’s easy.  _ As easy as it always should have been  _ he thinks as he closes the distance between the passenger seat and takes Cas’s face in his hands. When their lips meet, Dean’s heart sings a chorus of  _ homehomehomehomehomehome.  _ He gasps and melts and clings and falls and it’s the simplest thing in the world, he realizes, it was so simple all along, and when he surfaces his angel is there looking at him with so much love that it makes his breath catch, might have caused him to turn away if they were anywhere else other than  _ here _ with everything exactly as it should be

The silence doesn’t need to be broken, but Dean does anyway.

“Kinda wish I would have done that sooner,” he jokes, but the words come with no trace of bitterness or regret, only love, with his arms full of Castiel and the promise of eternity. 

“Me too,” Cas says, pulling Dean into another kiss."But we’re here now.”

Dean closes his eyes and lets Cas kiss him thoroughly, enjoying the feeling of fingers in his hair and the press of Cas’s chest against his own. 

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” Dean says once they separate again, and Cas understands his true meaning at once.

“Not at all,” he assures “Time works differently here. A lifetime can pass on Earth and feel like just a few days for us. For me, it’s as if I only said goodbye to you just yesterday.”

Dean isn’t sure if the tears start to truly flow before or after he buries his face against Cas’s shoulder, but he also doesn’t care. He just holds on tight with his arms around Cas’s neck and lets himself be held in return as his tears soak the white fabric against his cheek.

It’s not tears of grief, but joyous relief, that have Dean shaking with the force of them. There is still sadness, of course, for so many things, but it feels more like a distant hum than the piercing torment it once was. Dean suddenly recalls the period of time when Jack had walked around the bunker playing those awful “mosquito ringtones” from his phone. 

“Hey Dean, what’s that weird sound?” Jack had asked him, trying and failing to hide his excitement, and Dean had known he was up to something instantly. 

“Don’t hear anything, kid, what’re you talking about?” he had replied, sipping his coffee.

It was then that Cas had walked in, face set in a dark grimace.

“ _ What _ is that awful sound?” Cas complained, squinting.

“You can hear it!” Jack had exclaimed. “It’s a high frequency ringtone that’s supposed to get harder to hear the older you get. Dean says he can’t hear it.”

“I am a celestial being who can hear at all frequencies, Jack. Dean, on the other hand,” he said, fixing a stern expression on the hunter, “is an old man.”

Jack had thrown his head back and  _ howled  _ with laughter at that.

“Hey now-” Dean had started, ready to defend his honor and continue their usual banter, but something caught in his throat when he saw the look Cas was still giving him had changed. There was a playfulness there that Dean couldn’t remember seeing in Cas more than a handful of times before. There was something else in that look too, completely unfamiliar. A question, an invitation, something unspoken that Dean had no idea how to begin to answer — so he shot Cas a goofy smirk and let the  _ something  _ hang in the silence, filling the air between them. He was struck then, sitting at the kitchen table in the place they had called home for so many years, with the angel and the cursed child who had both crashed into his life unexpectedly and made him feel so many new and wonderful and terrifying emotions he never knew he could feel before, by how much he wanted to stay like this forever. It was overwhelming, and with it came the familiar pit of dread in his stomach and uninvited thoughts repeating the usual chorus of  _ notgonnalastwhybothertheyalwaysdieorleaveintheend  _ that had kept him safe from getting his hopes up for so many years.

Here, in the car with Cas smoothing down the fabric of his shirt between his shoulder blades, those thoughts have never been further away. Any sadness that still remains feels like it exists at a frequency outside of Dean’s range of perception, like those irritating ringtones Jack used to play. The waves of love and relief flowing through him are so enormous that they leave no room for grief or anxiety or fear. 

Words seem to come easier too, here in heaven. They flow freely from Dean’s lips as he holds on to Cas, a muffled collage of professions between tears.

“Love you, Cas...always have...love you so much...missed you...wanted you so long…”

“I know, Dean. It’s ok. I know.”

He feels Cas gently lift his chin and then kiss the wetness from his cheeks and tender skin around his eyes. He opens his eyes to see Cas looking at him with that same expression of unguarded  _ love  _ as earlier and Dean beams. 

“Cas...this is real, right?” Dean asks, already knowing the answer. When he’s experienced false realities in the past there’s always been a tinge of sickly-sweetness to it, like fruit turned overripe. There is none of that here, only the crisp smell of the early evening. He just needs to hear Cas say it. To make sure. 

“Yes it’s real, Dean. And it’s ours. For as long as we want, if that’s what you want.”

Dean pulls Cas closer until they’re both tangled impossibly against each other in the driver’s seat. He wraps a hand around the back of Cas’s neck and holds him steady so he can kiss him the way he’s always wanted to: slow and deep and reverent. 

_ All the time in the world,  _ Dean thinks and savors the way Cas presses back against his touch, the quiet breathless sounds he makes when Dean begins to kiss his neck. 

When they finally break apart, Cas looks dizzy and Dean thinks his heart must be beating hard enough to shake Baby.

Dean rests his forehead against Cas’s and attempts to catch his breath.

“We should probably be on our way soon,” Cas says after a stretch of easy silence. He carefully extracts himself from Dean’s embrace and slides back into his seat. 

Dean doesn’t let a moment pass before taking Cas’s hand back into his own and lacing their fingers together. He turns the key in the ignition and Baby jumps to life around him. By now, the sun has fully set, leaving behind a lingering dusky pink and orange sky. 

They pass by more freshly turned fields as they drive, dark squares of fertile soil occasionally punctuating long expanses of open country. Cas hasn’t looked away from Dean once since they pulled away and back on the road. Dean knows this because he’s been trying to use his peripheral vision to do the same. Every so often he steals a look to his right and is met with a soft smile from Cas in the fading rosy light.

“Hey Cas,” Dean says, suddenly aware of a question only just occurring to him, “where are we going?”

Cas’s smile grows and he gently squeezes Dean’s hand in his own.

“To see our son.”

Dean pulls off onto a long dirt path at Cas’s signal. At the end of the path he can see the silhouette of a structure that could be a house. As they get closer, Dean is able to make out more details and sees that it is indeed a house — a moderately sized farmhouse style home with white wood and a porch that spans the entirety of one side. There is a light on in the distant upstairs window. 

He parks the car in the grass outside and is only half-out the door when he hears a voice shout “Dean!” from the direction of the porch. Dean looks up to see Jack sprinting across the yard in his direction. He spreads his arms open just in time before Jack barrels into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. Cas catches his elbow as he stumbles to regain balance and Jack uses the opportunity to grab the angel by the wrist and pull him into the embrace as well. 

“Hey, Jack-kiddo,” Dean says, exhaling the last bit of tension he hadn’t even realized he was holding on to. Cas’s arms wrap around Jack and rest on Dean’s shoulders. They all stay there for a moment, lost in happy reunion. 

After a while, Dean lifts his head and looks around.

“So, what is this place?” he asks, “Needed an upgrade from the bunker?”

Jack looks up bashfully. “No, the bunker is great! I just thought, if I can build anything I want here, it might be a good idea to try making something new. I saw this picture of a house in a magazine somewhere once and I liked it so much.”

The expression on Jack’s face is one Dean has seen a million times before whenever he is looking for the hunter’s approval. 

“Well?” Dean asks, “Are you gonna show me the inside or what?”

Jack grins and nearly skips back to the front door. Dean and Cas follow unhurriedly behind, hand in hand. 

The interior of the house is no less impressive than its exterior. They step through the door into a cozy front hallway and then quickly a living room area that can think of no other word to describe than  _ perfect. _ The setup includes two plush-looking couches, a recliner chair, the biggest flat screen Dean has ever seen in his life, and an abundance of throw blankets.

“You done good, kid.” He says, clapping Jack on the shoulder and earning another grin. 

As his eyes adjust to the light, Dean notices something else about the room. Everywhere he looks are photographs: in countless frames, stuck on cork boards, and many just scattered across surfaces, as if someone had just recently been looking through them. He recognizes himself, Sam, Cas, Jack, Bobby, and Mary from the faces in the photos. The strange thing is, although he remembers most of the moments pictured, he doesn’t remember anyone having a camera around for them. 

“Jack, how did you…”

“Do you like them? They’re something else I made! I just used my memories. I thought it would be nice for me and Cas to have a way to still see you and Sam every day, at least while we’re here. Speaking of which, have you decided yet?”

Jack looks toward him expectantly and Dean draws a blank.

“Decide what?”

“If we’re going back or not,” Jack replies simply.

“What?” Dean repeats. He thinks he must have not heard Jack correctly. He turns around to look at Cas, searching his face for answers.

“Cas, what is he talking about?”

Cas speaks slowly and calmly, sensing Dean’s sudden disorientation.

“When Jack got to heaven he made a lot of changes. Now, people get a choice whether they stay or return.”

Dean looks back and forth between the two, dumbfounded.

“So, what, anyone can just  _ choose _ to come back from the dead now? That’s it? Nobody dies then?”

This time, it’s Jack who puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and meets his eyes with a reassuring smile. Dean is struck by how much older he seems, wiser, although he looks no physically different from the last time he saw the kid. This new role — _god?_ _Yeah, that’s gonna take some time to get used to_ — seems to suit him well. Dean can see no trace of the fear or self-doubt that Jack wrestled with so often during his time on Earth. Instead, there is only a happy, easy confidence that fills Dean’s heart with something warm like _pride._

“People do return – those who end up here too young, or with unfinished business, or just want more time with their loved ones,” Cas supplies. "But many choose to stay. They find it gives them peace.”

Dean stares at him then, the angel’s face all blue eyes and honesty.

“What would bring you peace, Dean?” he asks in a quiet tone.

Dean struggles for a moment to find words. “So...we can really go back? That’s not gonna have some sort of, I dunno, big cosmic ripple effect? Step on a butterfly and kill your grandma?”

If there’s one thing Dean knows better than anyone, it’s that there’s always a price to cheating death.

“Dean, this isn’t Jurassic Park,” says Jack, teasing.

“But this is  _ death. _ There are  _ rules  _ to that sort of thing _.”  _ Dean insists.

Cas steps closer and takes his hand again.  _ “ _ Dean, when have we ever cared about the rules?” 

“But…it just feels too easy.”

“Maybe it’s supposed to be easy. Maybe it always should have been,” Cas says as though waking from a dream to some great revelation. 

“Whatever you decide, Dean, we’ll be with you.” Jack interjects. 

“You’ll come too?” Dean asks, caught off guard again.

“Of course we’re coming!” Jack beams.

“You don’t need to stay here and watch over heaven?” asks Dean.

“Not really. It turns out, being god isn’t that hard! The last guy was just a real jerk! I can still pop up here occasionally and check in. Besides, it’s 2020, if anyone needs me they can just text me!”

Dean turns his gaze to Cas again. “And you?”

“Dean, if I go back with you, I’m there to stay. In order to free me from the Empty, Jack had to leave behind what remained of my angelic grace. On Earth, I would be human. I would live out the rest of a mortal lifespan with you.”

“You’ll die?”

“Yes. Eventually. And so will you. And then...we’ll have this waiting for us.”

Dean says nothing, considering. It isn’t even a question once what he’s hearing truly sinks in.

“Then...if we can really go back...of course I want to! I can’t leave Sam like that! Hell, I wish I woulda known all this before giving that big weepy speech back there. He’s never gonna let me live that one down. But he’ll be so happy to see you, both of you.”

Dean looks to Jack, suddenly full of excited impatience at the promise of more life.

“So what do I need to do, click my heels together or something?”

Jack laughs. “Sure! This is our story now, it can be whatever we want it to be.”

Dean doesn’t have any better ideas.

“Well, I’m afraid I don't hold much of a candle to Judy, but I’ll give it a shot.”

He holds out his hands for Cas and Jack to each take one, illuminated in the warm light of the living room.

“Whenever you’re ready.” Cas says.

Dean inhales. Closes his eyes. Moves his feet and feels the leather tap leather one, two, three times.

Nothing. 

“I think you’re forgetting something,” Cas says.

Dean doesn’t open his eyes, but feels him lean close and whisper in his ear, “ _ There’s no place like home. _ ”

Dean wakes up in his bed. For a fleeting second, he is gripped with fear that it was all some beautiful, taunting dream. Then he notices the weight on the mattress beside him. He wastes no time rolling onto his side and pulling the sleeping form of the former angel tight against his chest.

“ _ Cas, _ ” he exhales, more breath than words, against the back of his neck.

“I’m here,” comes a reply in the dark. 

There will be time, in a moment, to rush downstairs and bang on the door to Sam’s room and watch as his features change from shock and disbelief to joy and tears. There will be endless hugs and pats on the back and laughter filling the recently too-empty space. There will be a whole day of celebrating with endless rounds and toasts to nothing more than  _ life  _ and  _ being alive. _

But for now, Dean wraps his arms around Cas’s chest and holds him impossibly closer. He can feel their hearts beating in tandem, slow and steady and  _ real _ against all odds. Cas hums happily, half-asleep again already, and reaches up to Dean’s hand to lace their fingers together. Dean squeezes back and smiles. They have all the time in the world.


End file.
